


Of Nature and Nurture

by Chordae



Series: Din Djarin’s Guide To Fatherhood and All the Existential Crises Inbetween [3]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: ManDadlorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22061902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chordae/pseuds/Chordae
Summary: Just because he kills and encapsulates people in carbonite for a living doesn’t make him a bad dad.
Series: Din Djarin’s Guide To Fatherhood and All the Existential Crises Inbetween [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586989
Comments: 14
Kudos: 308





	Of Nature and Nurture

Din Djarin turns a quick corner into the bar, the doors sliding open with a ‘hiss’ as he passes through the threshold. With his kid strapped to his chest via a carefully rigged-up swaddle of his cloak, he brushes past the gaping patrons and comes to a stop before the counter, ushering over a bartender with a vague wave of his hand.

The kid turns his face away from the crook of his father’s neck, wide eyes greedily taking in their surroundings. He chortles, high and pitchy, then focuses on the bartender as well.

Din tips his head to the bartender, then orders.

“Can I get a glass of any milk you’ve got?” He asks, gesturing with a nod at his kid. 

The bartender regards the Mandalorian with an incredulous look.

“This is a bar.” They warble, managing to simultaneously clean their glass with diligence as well as shoot Din with a heavy glare. Their eye chances a brief glance at the kid and the gaping hole of their mouth opens to speak once more. “-And that kid has no reason to be with the likes of  _ you,  _ Mando.” They chitter.

Din, caught off guard, simply blinks. 

(Of course, the action isn’t properly translated due to his Beskar helmet.)

“...Would you happen to have a soup or broth of any kind?” Din asks, readjusting the kid resting against him so he can get a better look at his surroundings.

“This is a  _ bar.”  _ The bartender repeats with a sneer (which doesn’t properly translate due to the writhing mess of their mouth). “-And soup is no food for a child that small.”

Din blinks a second time, for he not only recalls the fact that a majority of bars he has been to has had  _ food  _ on the menu, he also manages to remember the numerous times he has caught the kid eating living creatures with a practiced ease. Din also faintly realizes that he has  _ no idea  _ what his kid is supposed to eat, and has been simply guessing the entire time.

Din’s a moment away from asking what the bartender recommends he feed his kid, partly out of animosity and the rest out of genuine curiosity and desperation, when the kid squeals at the bartender. His kid makes grabby hands at the bartender, entirely enraptured in their ‘alien’ features.

The bartender chitters something in a language unknown to Din, then basically recoils away  from the kid.

“Teach your kid to keep its hands to itself.” The bartender bites out, then gives Din a dull look. “Maybe teach it things other than how to shoot people.” The bartender murmurs loud enough for Din to catch. “Small thing won’t live past its infancy, apparently. Surprise it’s lived this long, anyways. A child should not be shouldered with a Mando as its parent.” Their mouth writhes for a moment, then stutters to a stop. “Strange that I consider that is your child. Perhaps it is just another bounty to slash and kill? A child that is nothing more than a handful of credits-“

Din carefully aims his blaster at the bartender, rage gradually building and a stern disappointment in his past self lingering at the back of his mind. He ensures no patrons sober enough to consider what’s happening is looking their way, then shoulders closer to the counter, Beskar armor pressed firmly against it and his kid gurgling happily against his chest.

He somehow manages to _discreetly_ aim his blaster.

“ Hey, look.” Din tries to bargain. His blaster’s pointed at the bartender’s face, his other hand carefully digging for the holoprojector in his pocket. “I just want to get  _ my  _ kid some  _ food _ .” He bites out, flicking the holoprojector on and then depositing it onto the counter, the bartender’s face apparent in the projection. “Since you don’t have  _ food,  _ I suppose I’ll have to  _ leave.  _ **_Dead or alive.”_ **

The bartender scrambles behind the counter, and Din simply covers the kid’s eyes with his free hand as he easily shoots the bartender’s head, the gaping wound immediately cauterized.

Din manages a sigh at the resounding sound of blasters clicking to life, turning firmly on his heel and drawing his second blaster. Dual wielding the blasters, stance wide yet wary, he practically begs the patrons to take the shot, menacing even with his kid messily slobbering on a fob and strapped to his chest.

The bar sits at a silent standstill for a moment, nothing but the whir of blasters filling the quiet. The four hostile patrons stiffly holster their weapons, slipping back into their seats and begrudgingly continuing to nurse their egregious amounts of alcohol.

Din casually holsters both his blasters, throws the corpse of the bartender over his shoulder, then marches off to find an establishment willing to feed his kid.

**Author's Note:**

> shucks that bartender had real personal problems, eh?  
> haha sorry for the shitty fanfic i’ll try to post something better soon


End file.
